


A problem (or a few)

by torinosu



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bart’s jeans get mentioned A LOT, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Gay, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, Lisa is a good sister, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Mild Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, kind of, past bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29544249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torinosu/pseuds/torinosu
Summary: Bart Simpson is twenty-one years old, a tattoo apprentice who’s boss won’t even let near a tattoo gun, and he lives in a shitty apartment and drinks too much beer.Then summer brings an old classmate back into town.It’s Martin Prince, and he’s hot.
Relationships: Martin Prince/Bart Simpson, Nelson Muntz/Lisa Simpson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	A problem (or a few)

“Soy un perdedor, I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?” Bart sings over the buzz of the tattoo gun. He’s leaning on the counter and watching the odd person stroll past on the street. They’ve only had one customer all morning.

His boss Steve snorts at him as he wipes down the eagle he’s just inked on the arm of a bearded biker type. 

“You just never left the nineties did you?” He says, “it’s the millennium!” 

“Whatever, man” Bart shrugs, “it’s not like this place is the height of modernism” he gestures to the Harley in the front window of the tattoo parlour. It has Christmas lights strung round it.

“Is that even a word?” Steve says, “anyway, this coming from the guy who still dresses like he probably did in middle school” 

Bart can’t see anything wrong with his permanent uniform of flannel, cargos and all stars. The flannel is tied round his waist today, though. Summer is settling in with a lazy determination. It’s noon, and it’s hot.

“At least I grew out of how I dressed in elementary” he points out, “I wore shorts every day, man.  _ Shorts _ ” 

Steve sees the biker guy out and the shop falls into silence. 

“Hey, Steve? When can I start actually inking people?”

Steve throws his head back and laughs like the asshole he is, “kid, you ain’t there yet”

*

Being twenty-one was something Bart looked forward to since he was ten, and safe to say it’s not living up to his childish imagination.

Yeah, he can legally buy beer now but that’s not so fun when all he’s doing is drinking it alone in front of the tv in his shitty apartment.

The air conditioning is broken and the July heat settles in the musty air as he licks a stray drop of condensation that travels from the side of the can to drip on his hand. He’s three beers in but it’s not helping the rage he feels when he thinks about Steve’s smug, shitty face.

“Apprentice, my ass” he says out loud to no one. He’s a glorified janitor. He hasn’t even _touched_ a fuckin’ tattoo gun in the six months he’s worked in the shop. 

He crushes the can and reaches for another. It’s not like he has to work tomorrow. 

*

So what if he’s hungover when he realises he has no food in the apartment at all and has to drag himself out to the supermarket the next morning.

He throws a six pack into his basket. Who ever said that Bart Simpson learns from his mistakes? (no one, because he doesn’t).

He’s trying to decide between two different kinds of sugar and artificial colourings masquerading as cereal when he steps back and collides with someone.

Someone tall and blonde and Bart can’t tear his eyes away but he manages with supreme effort.

“Sorry, man” he says lifting a hand to rub the back of his head. His t-shirt sleeve is rolled and he notices the guy give his bicep an eyeful, it sends a little thrill down his spine.

Until the guy looks him square in the eye and says, “Bart? Bart Simpson?” 

His walls come up, “yeah that’s me, who the hell are you?”

The guy looks taken aback for a second before he straightens his posture, “it’s Martin” he says, “M-Martin Prince” 

Realisation slams into Bart’s brain in the form of a little chubby, nerdy kid.

“Dude, you got hot” his mouth says before his mind catches up. Martin blushes fiercely. He’s still dressed like a geek, wearing a short sleeved white button up and tan slacks. But he’s slender and his soft, strawberry blonde hair is falling into his eyes a little, “wait, man, I didn’t mean. Uh...”

“It’s okay. I didn’t recognise you either, at first”  Martin says.

Bart goes to step back but he bumps into the cereal shelf. Martin’s hand shoots out to steady him and it’s warm at his elbow. 

“You went to college out of state, right?” Bart says and his voice seems weird and distant, Martin nods and says something about only being in town for a few days, “we should totally go get a drink or something, shoot the shit. I could see if some of the guys are free” He winces at how lame he sounds. Martin smiles softly but it’s a little sad around the edges.

“Sure” he says, “why not” 

*

Even though he’s an adult he still plays the dutiful son every now and again and brings some laundry home for his mother to do.

Unfortunately it’s summer vacation which means both of his sisters are also home.

He’s sitting on the bed in his childhood bedroom staring at an old Krusty the clown poster and contemplating taking it back to his depressingly clown-free apartment when Lisa walks in and sits next to him.

“I see you’re getting mom to wash your only pair of tight jeans” she says, licking the ice pop in her hand, “hot date?”

“What? No. I’m just going out with the guys” 

She laughs, “I’m kidding. I know because Nelson told me” 

Bart snorts, one of the downsides of your sister dating one of your friends is they somehow know all your plans. 

“I also know you invited Martin” she looks down at her quickly melting ice pop as if it’s suddenly very interesting, “I kept in touch with him after high school and I actually met up with him for coffee yesterday. He’s cute, huh?”

“What the fuck, Lis” Bart darts his eyes to the open doorway.

“Relax, dad’s not here, and mom’s in the basement washing your skinny jeans and sexy undies for your ‘night out with the guys’” she adds the last part with air quotes, which looks a little difficult while she’s holding her now finished popsicle stick.

“Guys don’t have sexy undies” Bart says, “anyway, we are _not_ having this conversation”

“But I thought one of the upsides of you being gay would be the fact we can talk about boys” she smirks, and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, “even if one of the downsides was finding out you had a crush on my boyfriend”

Bart splutters, “that was like, a million years ago! Plus, it’s not my fault you bagged the literal only hot guy in town” 

“He  _ is  _ hot, right?” She leans back on her hands and sighs wistfully. She’s wearing a loose orange sundress and she looks grown up, Bart thinks with a pang in his chest. He sometimes wonders what he looks like, to her.

“Don’t you have some class to study for?” He says instead. 

*

He ends up doing a shot of tequila before he even steps foot outside his apartment and he’s not even totally sure why. 

He’s also not sure why he keeps compulsively checking his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He scowls at a zit on his chin and then starts to wonder if he put too much gel in his hair. 

_Whatever_ , his brain supplies, _it’s not like anyone’s going to be running their hands through it_ , which only makes him think about hands running through his hair. Which then makes him remember Martin’s firm, warm grip on his elbow in the grocery store, which then in turn makes him wonder what that warm hand would feel like on other parts of his body.

His tight jeans start to feel a little too tight and he has to do a couple of deep breaths to calm down. His outfit is good, he thinks. Not too try-hard. 

His jeans were black but have faded a little and have rips at both the knees, because he doesn’t own a pair of jeans that don’t have rips, and he’s got a plain white t-shirt on with the sleeves rolled up because even though the sun is starting to go down it’s still very warm out. His dirty blonde hair is longer than he used to like it but he still meticulously spikes it up, and of course, he’s got his all star high tops on. Maybe Steve is right, maybe he didn’t ever leave the nineties. Whatever, Steve’s a dick. 

He does one more shot before he leaves. 

*

The bar is noisy and Bart nurses his beer and tries not to think about the fact that he’s disappointed that he’s not sitting next to Martin. 

When he got there late, Martin was already in the booth sandwiched between Milhouse and Nelson, and, thanks to Milhouse being jacked and Nelson always being built like a brick shithouse, he looks tiny. He’s wearing a tight black button up and it’s making Bart’s mouth dry. He sips his beer.

“Remember when we stole that car?” Nelson’s saying. 

“We didn’t steal it. We _hired_ it” Bart says, “perfectly legal” 

“We were thirteen!” 

Bart grins at Milhouse over the neck of his bottle and notices Martin look away from him quickly with a blush.

“So, Martin” Milhouse says, “what are you in town for?”

“O-oh” Martin stammers and looks down, “family funeral” 

A chorus of “I’m sorry, man” and “that sucks” echo round the small group. Martin waves his hand like he’s brushing it off.

“It’s fine” he says, but the tone of his voice sounds like it’s absolutely not fine, “Nelson!” He says, abruptly, “how long have you been dating Lisa?” 

Bart groans and excuses himself to go to the bar just so he doesn’t have to hear another rendition of ‘we were on and off again’ or details of his baby sister’s love life.

He’s leaning on the sticky countertop waiting to be served when he feels someone sidle up beside him.

“I’ve been informed it’s my round so I hope you haven’t paid yet” Martin says in his ear and it sends a small shiver down Bart’s spine.

“Sorry” Bart says even though he’s not fully sure what he’s apologising for, “uh, for dragging you out when you’ve got shit to deal with” he finishes lamely.

“I was actually grateful for the distraction” Martin says and smiles and Bart thinks of a hundred ways he could distract him further, “I didn’t...want to say in front of the others but it was my mother’s funeral, that I came to town for” 

“Your...your mom?”

Martin shrugs and his smile turns sad, “yeah. I mean, she’s been sick for a while so it wasn’t a total shock, but” he shrugs again.

“Shit, man. That blows, I’m sorry” Bart runs a hand through his hair, and he gets a flash of a memory of his mom on the phone a few times while he was visiting in the last couple of months talking about Martha Prince. He’d just never paid any attention, “I really am. It must suck to lose your mom like that” he bumps his fingers awkwardly against Martin’s hand where it’s resting on the bar. 

Martin opens his mouth to say something but the bartender approaches and Bart insists on buying them all shots of vodka.

*

The next couple of hours pass in a blur and Bart is a little tipsy. 

“I gotta go” Nelson says, standing abruptly, and winking. He’s definitely drunk, “my lady is waiting”

“That’s my sister, man” Bart says with disgust and swigs the last drop of beer from his fourth (or fifth?) bottle. 

Nelson shrugs and says his goodbyes, bumping fists with a bemused Martin who has finally ended up sitting beside Bart. Their thighs are pressed together and he’s trying not to think about it too much.

“Yeah, I’m off too, guys” Milhouse says, and he’s too sober anyway, after palming off all his shots on the others. Loser.

Bart salutes him as he shuffles his brawny body out of the booth and draws the eyes of a group of loud, tipsy college girls.

“Are you...” Martin licks his lips and draws Bart’s gaze down, “are you leaving too?” 

He gently rests his hand on Bart’s leg, above the rip in his jeans, and his fingers flutter, like he’s not sure. 

Bart presses his thigh against Martin’s a little harder, “you could come back to my place, if you want” 

*

He really should have cleaned. There’s crushed empty beer cans and an old pizza box on the coffee table, and a pair of jeans slung over the back of the couch. 

“Make yourself at home” he says lamely, and snatches the jeans as Martin sits down on the edge of the seat primly, “you want coffee? Or a beer?” 

“Beer’s fine” Martin says and then Bart’s pressing a can of Duff into his hand. Their fingers brush. 

“Only the good stuff” Bart says and then wants to throw himself off the balcony. He only lives on the second floor so he probably wouldn’t die but he’s willing to take the chance.

There’s silence as they crack their respective cans and drink. Martin’s the first to break it.

“I like your tattoos” he says gesturing towards Bart with his beer can. 

“Oh, thanks! My boss did them all” he turns his arms this way and that, showing the ink. He’s still got a few gaps he’s hoping to fill soon. 

“You said you were an apprentice?” 

Bart scoffs, “it sounds more awesome than it is, trust me. I’m a receptionist and a janitor” 

Martin shuffles closer and touches the red sailor style heart on Bart’s bicep, “what’s this one?” He angles his head to read the lettering, “...moth?”

Bart laughs, “it’s an inside joke between me and my mom, see, when I was a kid I...shit” he says, “sorry” 

“You’re allowed to talk about your mom” 

“Feels kinda shitty, though” 

Martin shrugs and his hair falls into his eyes a little. He shrugs too much, Bart thinks.

“So, how does it feel being back in good ol’ Springfield?” 

“I don’t know” Martin says, looking down at his beer, “weird, I guess. I mean, my life here was shit”

Bart thinks of schoolyard bullies and the rumours and insults that stuck to Martin that he did everything in his power to not have targeted at him, “yeah” 

“Nelson’s dating Lisa, huh?” Martin says suddenly and Bart groans, ready to complain about the fact that they talked about that most of the night, until Martin adds, shyly, “do you...have a girlfriend?” He licks his lips and looks so sincere that Bart can’t help the laugh that bursts from him.

“Sorry! I’m not” he chuckles, “I’m not laughing at you I just...I thought it was obvious that I’m not into chicks, man.” He doesn’t know if it’s the booze in his blood or the fact that Martin is sitting so close that Bart can smell the mixture of his cologne and the smoky smell of the bar or what, but he feels bold, suddenly, “I mean, I’ve wanted to kiss you pretty much all night. I even wore my good jeans” 

Martin groans and pitches forward to press their lips together. He tastes like beer and his mouth is soft and pliant, opening readily when Bart licks inside. He has half a mind to think that this is a bad idea, that they’re both kinda drunk, that Martin is _grieving_ and maybe that’s lowering his inhibitions and Bart’s taking advantage, but Martin’s slipping a warm hand under Bart’s t-shirt and rubbing a little at the skin on his lower stomach and his brain short-circuits until all he can think is  _ skin ,  good .  _

It’s been an embarrassingly long time since anyone’s touched him like this so he’s hard pretty much immediately, and thanks to his jeans, it’s very obvious. Martin stares down at his crotch for a long moment until Bart says, stupidly, “it’s yours if you want it” 

It must work, though, because Martin shudders a breath and is kissing him again, fumbling with Bart’s fly. They manoeuvre themselves so they’re laying back on the couch and Bart’s dick is in Martin’s hand and he’s whining into his mouth. 

Suddenly Martin’s gone and Bart’s mind, slow now less with beer and more with lust, can’t comprehend it until he feels wet heat around his cock. His hips jerk up of their own accord and he hears Martin gag and  _ fuck _ , that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Martin holds Bart’s hips down to stop him bucking up as his tongue works his shaft, drawing embarrassing sounds from him. Bart tangles his fist in Martin’s hair and it’s as soft as it looks.

He swears in a long string at the stimulation, the hand that’s not in Martin’s hair scrabbling the back of the couch for something to grip onto. 

Martin looks up and his lips pop off Bart’s head with an obscene sound. 

Their breaths are ragged and loud in the quiet apartment and Bart vaguely wishes he’d put on some music or something. 

“God, I wanna fuck you” he says too loud and some part of him thinks this is crazy, this is  _Martin_ _Prince_ , but Martin says yes, shyly, like he hasn’t just had Bart’s dick down his throat, and all he can think after that is  _ yes _ . 

*

They move to the bedroom which is even messier than the living room and Bart probably should have spent less time checking out his reflection before he left for the evening and more time picking up stray socks and yet even more crushed beer cans from his bedroom floor. 

None of that matters, though, once he’s got Martin’s knees up by his ears and is buried to the hilt inside him.

He’s making small gasping sounds into Bart’s ear at every thrust and his blunt nails drag sharp lines across his bare back. They’re horizontal on the bed and Bart’s feet are slipping on the carpeted floor as he pushes, and pushes. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna...” he grits his teeth and presses his face into the top of Martin’s head. 

“Kiss me” Martin gasps and brings Bart’s face down to his, pressing his open mouth sloppily to Bart’s lips as he shouts out and comes all over his stomach. Bart’s hips stutter out of rhythm and he follows suit with a harsh exhale from his nose.

Martin pecks his lips with a gentle kiss, and then smiles sunnily up at him.

“Hi” he says, and Bart rolls over onto the bed and laughs his ass off. 

*

“So you somehow got  _ tattooed _ when you were  _ ten years old _ ?” Martin says incredulously, tracing his finger round the shape of Bart’s ‘moth’ tattoo, two orgasms and a short nap later when they’re under the covers and slow and ornery.

“Yeah” Bart says, “but my mom caught me when the guy was only four letters in and fuckin’ _dragged_ me out of there.” He sighs and buries his nose into Martin’s hair, “I felt like shit later when I found out she had to use her savings to get it lasered. She saw the funny side when I got it redone though, it was my first ink” 

They talk about nothing until Martin dozes off. Bart slides out from under his arm to use the bathroom and check the bite marks on his shoulders, and he hears his often forgotten cellphone ring.

“Hey, Lis” he whispers after he picks up and wanders into the kitchen to pour a glass of water.

“Why are you whispering, it’s nine in the morning” she says, then she gasps dramatically and makes him pull the phone away from his ear with a grimace, “You’re not alone, are you?” He hears her footsteps thundering up the stairs and a door shut before she speaks again, “is Martin there?” 

“For all you know, Milhouse could be passed out on my couch” he scoffs and downs half his water in one gulp, “also don’t talk so loud, I know Homer’s there, it’s Saturday”

“I knew it!” She crows and the phone line crackles a little, “Your slutty little jeans worked their magic”

“What -the fuck- ever” he says rolling his eyes and wondering if he should leave a glass of water on the nightstand for Martin when he wakes up. He doesn’t know much about post-coital etiquette. Ugh, he sounds like Lisa. He bites the bullet, “what do I do, Lis? Isn’t he only here for like, one more day?” 

“Wait, what?” She says gently in his ear, “you’re worrying about him leaving? I thought you were just trying to get in his pants”

He grips the phone hard and thinks about Martin’s soft hair and sunny smile and closes his eyes, “I don’t...I don’t know” 

“Wow, Bart” 

“Yeah” 

*

Martin wakes up and his eyes look golden in the morning summer sunlight that streaks through the slats in the blinds that Bart never bothers to open or close properly. He drinks the water that’s on the nightstand and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Bart wants to kiss him. It kind of hurts.

“I should probably leave soon” Martin says more to the duvet than to Bart, “I have to pack” 

Bart clenches the blanket in his fist, “when’s your...when do you leave?”

“I have to catch a bus home tomorrow morning” 

_Home_ ,  Bart thinks, he has a home and it’s not here. He got out and has a life and probably meets boys while Bart festers in this stupid town and gets belittled by Steve and has to put up with comments about being “ _ fruity _ ” from his dad and kicked out of the house when he admitted he might like guys, despite his mother’s weak protests, and telling her it’s okay, he wants his freedom anyway. Even though freedom feels a lot like loneliness. 

“You could stay” he says and it hangs in the air between them. 

“I don’t...want to” Bart looks up and Martin cringes, “I mean...I hated it here. My life was hell. School, the kids” he laughs humourlessly, “even we weren’t exactly _friends_ , Bart” 

“We could be” Bart says and it sounds desperate and he hates it. Martin’s mouth turns down. 

“I’m going to go, now” he pushes back the duvet and Bart grabs his wrist, “let go”

“No” he pitches forward and tries to kiss Martin but he stands and shakes him off.

“Stop, Bart” he says as he shoves last night’s clothes back on, “you don’t want _me_ , you just want _a_ _guy_ ” 

Bart’s stomach drops as he watches Martin button up his shirt, shove his feet into his shoes, his wallet into his pocket, he follows him as he goes, at a shuffle, and stops at the front door.

“If I’d been nicer to you when we were kids would you have stayed?” 

Martin shrugs again. Bart wants to put his hands on his thin shoulders but he doesn’t move.

“I don’t know” he whispers and heads out the door. He closes it softly but it feels like a slam. 

*

The jingle of keys and the rattle of his shitty front door rouse Bart from his self loathing stupor long enough to realise that a) he is still naked and the state of his room is very indicative of the fact that a lot of sex happened in it and b) the only person other than himself who has his apartment key is his little sister.

“Lisa!” He yells just as she steps into the room and shrieks, she quickly turns her back on him and covers her eyes.

“Bart! Why are you naked!?” 

“I’m sorry!” He says and jumps up to pull open his drawer and shove on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, “please...go into the living room and _do not look_ at anything yet!” 

“Gross!” she crows but does exactly what he says.

The couch seems okay so he gives her the go-ahead to sit down. She sits very gingerly right on the edge. He swears the girl is psychic, or she just knows him scarily well. 

“I called Martin” she says, and he side-eyes her, “we keep in touch, I told you. I wasn’t going to lose contact with the only other smart kid in this town” she inspects her nails.

“Did he” Bart licks his lips, “did he say anything?” 

“What did you do?” She asks, accusatory.

“Nothing!” He says, then sighs and puts his head in his hands, “I asked him to stay” 

“Oh, Bart...” 

“I know” 

She reaches out and places one of her little hands on top of his. She strokes the cherub tattoo he has on the back of his right hand with her thumb, “I’m supposed to be meeting him tonight at the library”

“Nerd”

“You could go in my place?”

“And do what, exactly?” 

“Tell him how you feel? He’s not an asshole, he’s not just going to ignore that” she says, “best case scenario, you exchange phone numbers and stay in touch, maybe meet up once in a while, worst case, he leaves and you never see him again and he’ll just be a one night stand” she purses her lips, “I doubt it will come to that, though”

Bart pulls her into a shaky hug, “what did I do to deserve a sister like you?” He says into her hair. She squeezes him tight.

“Just keep Nelson out of trouble when I go back to school” 

He grins, “I make no promises”

*

Lisa makes him shower and style his hair and eat two pieces of toast before he goes to meet Martin at the library. He can’t remember the last time he even _set foot_ in the library. 

It looks like it hasn’t been redecorated since the sixties, all mahogany tables and chintzy chairs. He sees Martin sitting alone reading a dog-eared paperback and his stomach swoops. 

“What’re you reading?” He asks, and Martin startles, “whoa! I’m not here to ambush you” Bart pulls out a chair and sits down, “Lisa told me you’d be here, I wanted to...I want to apologise, for how I acted this morning” 

“Bart Simpson, apologising? Who knew?” Martin murmurs, and that stings a bit.

“Look, I just...” he starts to say when the ancient librarian shushes him, “do you want to come to my place? I just have something I want to say, that’s all” he eyes the book in Martin’s hand. It’s one of those cheesy harlequin romances. He’s sure his mom wrote one just like it, once. 

Martin purses his lips.

“I’ll let you think about it” Bart says, and stands. He leaves and his legs feel like jelly. He picks up a six pack of Duff Light on the way home because old habits die hard. 

*

The knock comes when he’s two cans in. He’s not even slightly buzzed, which is probably not ideal when he’s preparing to lay his heart out on the floor for Martin to potentially stomp on with his polished brown shoes.

Bart lets him in and they stand awkwardly for a minute until he offers him a beer and they sit down on the couch.

Martin turns the unopened can around in his hands. He’s wearing the same white shirt and tan slacks he was wearing when they first met in the supermarket, which feels like decades ago, rather than just two days. _Fuck_ , it’s only been two days. Bart feels pathetic, and kind of like a weird stalker. Who the fuck admits they might be in love with someone they’ve kind of known for ten years but actually really only for  _ two days?  _ Even if he did spend a good portion of that time inside the other person. 

He realises that he hasn’t verbalised any of this and has just been staring, wounded, at a space somewhere to Martin’s left. 

“What did you...”

“Martin, I...”

They both go to speak at the same time. Martin gestures with a hand for Bart to continue, only, he doesn’t know where to start.

“I know you said we were never friends, and we weren’t. I was always so wrapped up in my own shit.” He pauses, “but you were wrong when you said I didn’t want you.”

“You barely know me” Martin says.

“Love at first sight?” Bart says, weakly. It’s so pathetic now that he’s actually said it out loud, and he almost wants to laugh, even though it is a little bit true. 

Martin puts the beer can on the coffee table with a clunk, “you know when we stole that car when we were kids?” 

“We hired it” 

“Whatever” Martin shakes his head, “I know we got into a lot of trouble afterwards, and I think I’m still grounded to this day. But...we were driving on the highway and you were singing along to some shitty pop song on the radio and it was the most fun I’ve ever had” he pauses, “I think I fell in love with you a little bit that day” 

“I didn’t know” 

“No, because the next day we were at school and Nelson pushed me into the mud and called me a fag and you  _laughed_ ,  Bart”

“Fuck” 

“Yeah” Martin says, but he reaches out and takes Bart’s hand, “and then I grew up and came into town and I was so lost after the funeral and I bumped into you and god, you’re so handsome and although I got the feeling you just wanted to get into my pants, I thought ‘why not?’” He frowns, “I didn’t expect to actually  _ like _ you. Who you’ve become”

Bart snorts “I’m a loser”  _ so why don’t you kill me?  _

“Lisa talked about you a lot when we went for coffee” Martin smiles, “she’s proud of you” 

“I don’t deserve that woman” Bart says. 

They lapse into silence and Bart is very aware that Martin is still holding his hand. 

“I’m going to go home, tomorrow” Martin says eventually, “but you can come and visit me whenever you want” he looks down at their entwined hands, “I might not know about love at first sight, but I think I’d like to date you, Bart Simpson”

Bart can’t help the grin that feels like it splits his face in two, “okay, Martin Prince” he says, then, “Is this technically our second date?”

“I guess” 

Bart closes the gap between them and kisses him. 

*

“Mama tells me I shouldn't bother, that I ought to stick to another man, a man that surely deserves me, but I think you do” Bart sings into the broom handle like it’s a microphone as Steve rolls his eyes at him, “love me, love me, say that you love me!” The nineties radio station croons along with him. 

“Kid” he says, “you’ve been unnervingly happy for too long” 

Bart grins, “you’d be happy too if you were getting two whole weeks off from sweeping and cleaning biker dude’s blood off of the floor and spending it with the love of your life” he pats Steve on his rough denim shoulder, “oh I forgot, you’re old and bitter” 

“Ha fuckin’ ha, kid” Steve crosses his arms, “I almost don’t want to make you more happy, but” he beckons Bart over to the small storeroom at the back of the shop. There’s a cardboard box laying open with a new tattoo gun and a silicone arm laying inside, “when you get back, what do you think about me showing you the ropes?” 

“How would you feel if I hugged you right now, man?”

“Please don’t” Steve grumps. He stomps away but Bart can tell he looks pleased in his own grouchy way. He whips his cellphone out of his pocket and dials the number he’s memorised over the past month.

“Babe!” He says when Martin picks up, “you’ll never guess what!” 

**Author's Note:**

> If I can’t upload a really self indulgent fic on my birthday, when else can I?


End file.
